


Aftermath

by Kadira



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadira/pseuds/Kadira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of TRF: Mycroft joins Sherlock after John leaves the graveyard -  to talk, to plan and to help his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 2.03 - _The Reichenbach Fall_ , implied Sherlock/John

He feels his brother's presence before Mycroft even speaks. "I think it's safe to say that you effectively broke your good Doctor's heart," Mycroft says, thoughtful as they both look in the direction where John had vanished, taking his pain and his tears with him.

Sherlock doesn't reply. He can't, his voice stuck in his throat, his eyes burning with a new supply of fresh tears that seek a way out. Sherlock refuses them. He has cried more than enough to last him a few lifetimes, more than he ever did before or even thought possible – and he has no intention to start again. Such a waste of energy! Tears won't change what happened, won't give him back his life, his job or keep his friends safe. They won't track down Moriarty's men, and they most certainly can't return John to him.

"Did you really think he would believe that you were a fraud? Just because you told him? Or because you cried?" There is no mockery in Mycroft's voice, merely honest curiosity.

Anybody but John would have believed him, but that knowledge didn't stop Sherlock from _hoping_ that it might've worked. He sighs. "You shouldn't listen in on people's phone calls," he says as he realises what happened, how Mycroft could know about that. "They tend to be personal. Besides, it worked for Lestrade."

"With all due respect for our national police force, you can hardly compare DI Lestrade with Dr John Watson. As for the rest, you were about to die, and I had to make sure that everything went according to plan. But it was a nice touch."

Sherlock smiles at that, wryly. "Lestrade didn't have a chance. He's just a normal man, an easy victim to the idea. That, and he had orders to follow. In fact, his faith lasted longer than I had expected. As for John - it was worth a try."

"To make things easier for John," Mycroft says. It's not a question, just a statement. They both know that it's true. Mycroft also forgets about the tears, maybe finally understanding that this is not something Sherlock wants to talk about, possibly even realizing that not everything had been an act. And how could it have been? Even with Sherlock not dying – and knowing it – his life as he knew it had come to an end. There was nothing left anymore, thanks to Moriarty and his, _their_ , game.

Sherlock shrugs, tries to keep his voice, his features and everything else smooth, devoid of emotions. "Not that it worked."

"No, it didn't. But it was good enough for the rest of the world. Every paper talks about the fraud of the century, the fake genius that deceived an entire nation and then escaped justice by committing suicide," Mycroft says. There's regret in his voice. "Are you sure that the price isn't too high? That the result will be worth giving up your life, your reputation...? Just leaving behind everything?"

_Your friends._

_John._

Sherlock adds silently that what Mycroft won't say.

Sherlock shakes his head, then nods, showing uncertainty. It's a moment of weakness he would never display anywhere else. Or with anybody else, except maybe for John. "I don't know," he admits. John would have a field day with such a statement. The great Sherlock Holmes indecisive about a matter. Yes, he would love that. Sherlock's smile is tight. "Moriarty may be dead, but his web still reaches far. There is a lot to do before I can be sure about anything." _Before his friends won't be in danger anymore._

Mycroft sighs. "It seems so. However, I will increase surveillance on John. The last time I saw him, he was quite... aggravated. The loyalty he displays when it comes to you is something very special, my dear brother. And very dangerous. Did you know that he visited me in Diogenes Club when you were on the run? Your good doctor confronted me about my involvement and asked about my relationship with Moriarty. He really is good. He was also very angry on your behalf and probably wouldn't have minded to express his displeasure in a more physical manner."

"Of course he is. If he weren't good, I would hardly have suffered his presence for that long," Sherlock states, tries to go for indifference with his voice, even though he knows that Mycroft won't be fooled.

"Of course," his brother says then, surprisingly, obviously for once allowing Sherlock the illusion of victory, at least in that.

Sherlock smiles. "Bad days," he then says, voice barely audible over the memories of a time when things were still better, when their plans had been set into motion already, but the impact had still been so far away: a time before Irene Adler, imaginary hounds and Moriarty's idea of solving their problems, before he had sat down with Mycroft and developed this ingenious plan to beat Moriarty, no matter the cost.

"I beg your pardon?"

_“I've had bad days.”_

Sherlock shakes his head, tries to ignore those memories, to dispel their ghosts. "I'm sorry for getting you involved in this, for the inconvenience it has – and may still – cause you. And for setting John on you, however unplanned that was," Sherlock eventually says. "But he will understand. Later. They all will." That's what Sherlock hopes at least, especially with John.

Or maybe his latest stunt has finally driven away the one person he ever allowed close, to whom he felt drawn, and with whom he felt comfortable. Not that he has any intention to contemplate this possibility any further, no matter how probable it is.

There is a hand on his shoulder, squeezing - almost like in the past when they were so much younger and life didn't seem nearly that difficult, when it was just the two of them against the rest of the world, and occasionally against each other - offering silent comfort for things they can't talk about.

Sherlock has no doubt that Mycroft is aware of the complexity of the situation, maybe even of the emotional entanglement his brother feels. At the very least he knows that Sherlock needs John, needs him like other people need air to breathe, and that the current situation is much worse than Sherlock had thought possible in the beginning.

Sherlock puts his own hand on Mycroft's, presses it in acknowledgement and a silent thank-you.

"He is not nearly as stupid as most other people out there. He may be angry once he discovers the truth, but he loves you and so will come around in the end. He will understand why it had to be done and forgive you."

Sherlock nods, hopes. Mycroft's optimism lets him almost believe that it might be possible, that maybe Moriarty did not win in the end.

"We should begin then," Mycroft says, withdrawing his hand. "The first reports came in this morning," he explains. "It seems that France will be your next stop. According to my man, a group of Moriarty's henchmen have assembled near Paris. Your documents will be ready by tonight, and I took the liberty to book you on the first flight tomorrow morning. One of my... private associates will meet you at the airport. He will take care that you will receive anything you may need. I hope that meets with your approval, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nods and turns around. Time to get ready, to triumph over Moriarty and to regain his life.

"Just do me a favour and try not to annoy him too much, dear brother. Good men are hard to find and I may still need him in the future."

**\---The End---**


End file.
